


The Purple Couch Blues

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Gen, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: Henry Morgan goes to therapy. Again.nth time's the charm?





	The Purple Couch Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/gifts).

He knew, of course, that once the topic of mandatory therapy was broached, that the matter would likely come up again. The incident with Clark Walker had only led to a temporary reprieve. One day, Reece would look at him from across her desk and give him that same old ultimatum—counseling or the door. And he would be so very tempted to choose the latter.

It seemed somehow fitting that Adam was the cause this time, too.

"I'm concerned about you, Henry," Reece said, with incredible gentleness. "Your behavior has been increasingly erratic these past few weeks, and the fact that Detective Martinez no longer wants to be partnered with you has me especially worried."

"I'm perfectly fine, Lieutenant," he said.

"I don't think you are," Reece said. Her expression softened even more. "Henry, there's no shame in needing a little help from a professional every now and then. I myself see a therapist at least once a month, sometimes more."

_Yes, well,_ he thought, _you haven't had my experiences with the dubious_ care _of mental health care, have you?_

"Oh?" he made himself say. It sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"Yes," Reece said, grabbing a pen and a notepad. "And I think my doctor might be a good fit for you." She scribbled something on the paper and tore off the sheet, offering it to him. "Her name is Violet Winston, and you can either go see her of your own volition, choose someone else, or—"

"Show myself to the door?" he finished. Propriety dictated that he take the proffered sheet of paper, but propriety could go hang.

Reece sighed. "I think it would be better for everyone if you chose one of the first two, including you." She shook the paper at Henry, and he finally took it. "Henry, you are a damn fine medical examiner—easily the best I've worked with. It would be a great loss to the NYPD if I had to request your termination."

"Then don't." He folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Seems like inaction is the most efficient solution, in this case."

"Until the wrong lawyer digs into your history and calls your credibility into question," Reece said. "If your issues are being handled with therapy, then that tactic will be less effective." Her phone rang, and she sighed heavily as she reached for it. "Three options, Henry—Dr. Winston, someone else, or a career change. I hope you choose the right one."

* * *

"Perhaps it _is_ time for a career change," he told Abe, between bites of a roast chicken that was probably flavorful and moist but tasted like sawdust in his mouth. "I've done this job for so long—"

Abe groaned—_groaned,_ the traitor!—and muttered, "Oh, for cryin' out loud—"

Henry harrumphed. "Abraham, you know my reasons. You know why I have no interest in psychotherapy."

"I do," Abe said, stabbing a green bean with what Henry thought was far more force than necessary. "I also know that they don't just ship people off to the funny farm willy-nilly like they used to, and that this job? Has been good for you. And this woman is unlikely to be Adam in disguise this time. I think maybe you, I don't know, maybe you should consider it."

Frowning, Henry said, "You've always shared my negative opinion on therapy." He eyed Abe curiously. "What's changed?"

Abe shrugged. "I've changed my way of thinking on a few things."

"Really?" Knowing his son as well as he did, Henry had a good guess as to why. "I'm assuming this change in perspective was brought about by a woman?"

"Fawn's been seeing a therapist since Lyle died. Says the woman's been doing her some real good. Maybe...maybe it won't hurt, Pops." He started to pop his beans into his mouth, then pointed his fork in Henry's direction. "And, hey, if this Winston woman tries to lock you up, I'll get you out."

Henry rubbed at the bridge of his nose, hoping to stave off the building headache. "Abe..."

"Look, try it once, Dad. Just try it once. And if it goes bad again, don't ever do it again. Okay? One more time."

With a heavy sigh, Henry relented. "One more time. And then I'll never have to do it again."

* * *

Violet Winston seemed to take some level of amusement from her given name. Much of her office was decorated in shades of purple—paintings of lavender fields and blossoming lilac bushes, a plush rug in a rich shade of plum, stationery and writing utensils a regal purple hue. Even the couch, a lush, sprawling thing spread across much of the office, was purple, as were the plump throw pillows perched in the corners.

"No violets," he commented.

With a small laugh, Winston gestured toward herself. "Just the one, for right now. Some of my patients thought the color scheme was funny, and I've found that some level of humor is a great way to put people at ease." There was a wryness in her smile that reminded Henry very much of Reece—most of her did, actually, like Dr. Winston was a softer version. No wonder she liked the doctor. "But if a dose of humor doesn't work for you, I am capable of toning it down." She waved to the couch. "Why don't you have a seat, make yourself at home, hm? And then we'll go from there."

He started toward the couch, then paused midway. "I'm not really a fan of therapy, I'm afraid—no offense."

"None taken," Winston said. "I get a lot of patients who hate therapy at the beginning, and some who hate it all the way through to the end. But I'm a very patient person. I'm more than willing to find out what works best for you, Dr. Morgan—or would you prefer Henry?"

Finally sitting down on the sofa—or perhaps _sinking_ was more accurate, goodness; it truly was as squishy as it looked—Henry replied, "Let's stick with formality for now, Dr. Winston, please."

She nodded, and picked up a notepad. "That works for me, Dr. Morgan. Now, I just have a few too many preliminary questions to ask you, and then we'll go from there. Would you like to get started?"

He wanted, more than anything, to reply with a petulant, _no._ Instead, he folded his hands in his lap and said, "Very well. Let's begin."

* * *

He likely wouldn't admit it, ever—not even under threat of the most ghastly of deaths; he would never hear the end of it from Abe—but Dr. Winston wasn't that terrible.


End file.
